“The crazies do walk and shop among us.”
What about the cranks and their fears?
Aliens with three toes and ghosts entering the house through the chimney and exhaust hose of the washing machine, nothing silver foil couldn’t fix up?
This is an epic book with epic battles.
Surviving childhood, dodging bullets, escaping a lynching, running from a feathering and tarring, man, Transmutation: Life of a Twisted Cop is a book in a league of its own.
Shagging at the Bell Tower, strawberry ice-cream eating serial killers, little in-house bitches between Donna, Amber, and Ronnie, and more tall stories than you would think possible for a copper to write.
He loved his job, he’ll tell you, and his education at Mercer University was too expensive, he’ll tell you and Amber that. Also, her Iphone is guzzling data and Donna is in the kitchen, listening out for any tall tales with her name in it.
This book has it all. It’s Ronnie Shaw on extra strong Maxwell House.
This cop is ducking and diving. They have their cross hairs on him. He’s evaded being shot in his Johnson, he’s evaded nearly being shot in the head from his own gun, and you say that being a copper is a cruisey number.
Furtherest from the truth.
He’s tackled disturbed monsters. He’s wrestled with the evilest of them. He’s talked that bullet out of exploding his brain into scrambled eggs and from receiving a postcard from it, saying ‘You were a blast.’
This is Ronnie Shaw’s tall stories of being a copper in the Atlanta Police Force. It isn’t the usual memoir of the bored gentry. It’s a book of real life visceral violence, where not coming home from work alive is a daily thought.
Ronnie will come clean that he’d downed a bottle of Burbon and smoked a packet of cigarettes before he even started his day shift.
He didn’t see the light that day. He saw death staring at him in his face. He got cold sober quickly as he talked himself out of a quick demise.
He said to the Almighty, ‘if you get me through this shit alive, I’ll give up the booze and cigarettes.’
This book’s a fascinating peek into the life of a copper. It has its up and downs and the chapters on Fruit Loops give you an idea of the kind of people you’ll meet on a daily basis as an Atlanta copper. Now ’69’ be careful, but ’69’ with bazooka added to it means the nut job wants you to pay a quick visit to the morgue.
At age four he died, apparently sucked down a water drain. Only a miracle allowed him to escape. It’s one of those stories that just stick with you, long after it was told, and sixty years later, the story is still printed with the freshness of the day it happened.
He states clearly in the book, how ironic that he’s a copper policing the deadbeats of his old neighborhood. There’s a tribute to the whores and racketeers of the Golden Strip of Shagville where the 24-hour hotels were changing their sperm stained sheets faster than you could pull out a kleenex after ejaculating on the belly of a dirty whore.
It’s a balanced book that looks at the rise of a kid from the wrong side of the tracks. His section on the perverts of his youth was cleverly tied in with his gay English Literature Professor at Mercer University. Ronnie tells it like it is. There’s no embellishment. And though Professor Bob was after Baby’s Sperms ass, Ron admits that he cast no judgment on people’s sexuality. He had a real education in the Projects. The more he learned, the more chance he had of survival.
That came fresh off the presses of the School of Hard Knocks.
The book explores a younger Roomie, who by all accounts, should either have been dead or behind bars, and how he became a copper. In another escapade, he’s dealing with a delinquent who wanted to blow his brains out. Ronnie knew it. The black wannabe gangster was graduating with Ronnie’s younger brother Thomas in Juvenile Detention High School, another reason why he took the kind approach on his potential murderer.
It was Ronnie’s lucky day. He talked his way out of the bullet to the head. He wrote off the burglary with his BIC pen that didn’t ensure either throwing away the key or ending up on the electric chair. But if it had of been the other pen.
He followed up the delinquent in another chapter, who got a long stay in jail for trying to shoot a copper on another burglary. It’s a common pattern, sadly, and one Ronnie tried to break by cutting the young delinquent some slack.
The book is a romp around Atlanta.
It’s full of self-deprecating fun. When Ronnie is called in for a ‘crazy’, who was wielding a shot gun, while the daughter was yelling, ‘Don’t kill him’ Ronnie finds himself six inches from his loaded gun that the loony has stolen from him in close combat. And when Ronnie was being lifted off the ground by the wimpy old deranged man, he was thinking, ‘It’s more likely the old fart will shoot me.’
I’m not telling you anymore. This book should be available on Amazon soon. Stay tuned.